The Candidate Coroner

by Paul Austin Ardoin

  Fenway nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a good point,” she mused. “Even though I don’t go anywhere without my laptop. Not usually, anyway.”

  Callahan looked around the room. “Anything else missing?”

  Fenway pointed to the table next to the chair. “The succulent in here is gone.”

  “That was a hidden microphone too, right?”

  “Yes,” she said. “At least, I assume so. It looked exactly like the other one. Same ceramic pot and everything.”

  Callahan looked around, lost. “We were gone for seven minutes.”

  “Sometimes it doesn’t even take that long.”

  Callahan sighed. “The sheriff is going to be so mad at me.”

  Fenway looked Callahan in the face. “No, he won’t. You were following protocol, you were following case law and my guidance. We had no way of knowing there was any danger.”

  “I still don’t like it,” he said. “This happened on my watch. And it shouldn’t have.”

  “You can’t think like that,” Fenway said. “And blaming yourself won’t help us find the killer.”

  “Do you think this is connected to you?” Callahan said. “Do you think the other patient waited for you? That if you had shown up here by yourself you would have been the one attacked?”

  “I don’t know,” Fenway said. “It’d be an awfully big coincidence otherwise. But if so, why weren’t they lying in wait for me?”

  “Maybe it’s not you.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “The attacks on me don’t make a lot of sense. Can you think of any reason why someone besides me would be the target?”

  “The therapist was seeing your dad, too, wasn’t he?”

  “Yeah...”

  “Your dad’s a pretty powerful guy. And he doesn’t always play by the rules. Maybe the microphone was intended to catch him saying something he thought was protected.”

  “Great,” Fenway said. “Another theory to stroke his ego.”

  Callahan looked sideways at her.

  “If you’re surprised, Callahan, you’re the only one in the whole office who didn’t know I don’t get along with him.”

  “Yeah, but you fake it, right? I mean, you must want to be in the will.”

  Fenway laughed, a barking guffaw that made an uncomfortable grimace emerge on Callahan’s face.

  “Oh, man, I’m sorry. That was—uh, like, the worst thing to say.”

  “No, it’s okay,” Fenway said. “Brian. It’s really okay. It’s refreshing to hear what people think.”

  “Sorry.”

  Fenway shrugged. She looked at the top of the desk and noticed a light film of dust around the edges.

  “Callahan, take a look at this.”

  “What?”

  Fenway pointed. “Notice there’s a fine layer of dust here?”

  “Yes.”

  She took another picture with Callahan’s phone. “But not here. There’s no dust—look, it’s in a large rectangular area right in front of the chair.”

  “Our killer took the laptop and the desk blotter.”

  “I think the doctor had a calendar on it the last time I was in here. Probably with the name of whoever had the ten o’clock appointment.”

  Callahan rubbed his face. “You know, Fenway, you’re probably going to have to stay to give your statement. I am too, of course—we both found the body—but you’re going to miss your senior center thing.”

  Fenway shook her head. “I wish there were a way to do this job without running for office.”

  Callahan nodded. “But I wouldn’t worry about it. Ivanovich has to talk about his son getting arrested. I’m not sure he can spin that.”

  “Hah,” Fenway snorted. “I think if he played his cards right, he could turn this into a positive for himself. Throw a few dog-whistle words to the white supremacists, suddenly they have a reason to come out and vote, and if he makes it about race, people will start doubting me.”

  “You are such a pessimist.”

  She handed the phone back to Callahan. “You don’t have to look far to find examples.”

  “He’s going to have to explain what his son did eventually. He hasn’t given a statement yet, which means he’s probably panicking and he’s not sure what to do.”

  “I guess. Millicent is still going to have a fit.”

  “Can’t be helped, though.” He put the phone in his pocket. “I’ll email the pictures to you the first chance I get.”

  “To everyone in the office.” Fenway thought for a moment. “And Dr. Yasuda’s office too, if you don’t mind.”

  “No problem.”

  There was a commotion outside, and Fenway heard yelling. Two of the voices were the policemen who had gone back outside to secure the scene. The other was Nathaniel Ferris.

  “Ugh,” Fenway said. “My father’s here.”

  She went out through the waiting room and opened the front door. “Hi, Dad,” she said, stepping out onto the walkway.

  Her father looked a little rumpled, as if he hadn’t slept, and his brow furrowed. “Fenway—what’s going on? Didn’t we have an appointment at eleven?”

  “Yes, we did,” she answered. “But the crime scene tape should give you a clue that it’s not going to happen today.”

  Ferris screwed up his face. “You can’t use anything I said to Dr. Tassajera against Charlotte. There’s such a thing as doctor-patient confidentiality—I don’t care if you were in the session too, we both have to—”

  “Dad!” Fenway interrupted. “We don’t use crime scene tape for interviews. You know better than that.”

  Ferris took a step back and blinked rapidly. “I—uh, no, Fenway, of course you’re right.” He looked out at the parking lot and his eyes widened when he took in all the police cars, as if noticing them for the first time. “How did—um,” Ferris stammered, then cleared his throat. “Is everyone okay?”

  Fenway shook her head.

  “Oh.” His face fell and all the color drained out of it.

  “Are you okay?” Fenway asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said in a low voice. “First, the police arrested Charlotte, and I’m already going out of my mind. Then I go to talk to Domingo Velásquez. But I get to his house and his wife tells me he left on Friday right after work and didn’t come back. And now, my therapist’s office—” He took two more steps back and stared at the office door.

  “Wait, Dad—did you say Domingo Velásquez is missing?”

  “I don’t know if I’d say missing,” he said.

  “Do you know him?”

  “Yes—remember? His company does the body work on our fleet?”

  “Oh—that’s right.”

  “I went there yesterday to tell him how sorry I was about Rory.”

  “You went to see him?” Fenway was shocked that her father had thought about someone other than himself. She hoped the surprise hadn’t registered on her face.

  “I had to get out of the house. Charlotte’s still in jail, you know. Rattling around that big house without her—I don’t know. I had to do something.”

  “And what happened?”

  “Nothing happened. He wasn’t home. His wife said he didn’t come home on Friday. And she didn’t know where he was.”

  “The day his minivan exploded. The day his son was killed.”

  Ferris nodded. “I guess so.”

  It seemed strange that Rory’s father would leave and not come back after his son’s death. Fenway had seen the different ways people dealt with grief, but Fenway suspected his disappearance might be something other than grief.

  “Did you pull up just now?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Roderick drive you?”

  “No, he gets Sundays off, remember? I drove myself.”

  “So you weren’t the person Dr. Tassajera had in his office five minutes ago, right?”

  “No, of course not. I came right from home. I didn’t even know he was seeing someone before us.”
r />   “I have to ask. And you don’t know who had the appointment before us?”

  “No idea,” Ferris said. “I didn’t even know he had an appointment before us. I show up and do what he says.”

  “You never heard Dr. Tassajera mention anyone he wasn’t getting along with, did you? Any patients who were violent? Any spouses of his clients who were angry with him?”

  “You were with me every time I saw him, Fenway. I sure don’t remember anything like that.” He paused. “Someone hurt the doctor?”

  Fenway nodded.

  “And he—he’s not going to be okay?”

  “No,” Fenway said softly.

  Ferris closed his eyes and nodded. “All right. Uh—you need to ask me any more questions?”

  “No—not for right now, anyway.” Fenway paused. “Sorry about Charlotte.”

  “Me too.”

  “Take care of yourself, okay? Have you eaten today?”

  Ferris shook his head. “I figured I’d eat after our session.”

  “Maybe you should go get something now.”

  “Yes, that’s a good idea,” Ferris said absently. “I hope you get whoever did this.” He turned and trudged through the parking lot toward the black Mercedes S500 parked in the last row.

  Callahan appeared by her side. “Okay, I think we’ve got everything secured in the office. It should be good until CSI gets here.”

  “Did you hear who they were sending?”

  “Both Kav and Melissa. It’s not often a murder is this fresh.”

  “I know.” And even though the murder had taken place far too close to Fenway for comfort, especially since there was a possibility she was the target, she felt excitement. This murder was not only fresh, but the killer didn’t have a lot of time. No time to clean up, no time to wipe prints off anything, no time to make sure stray hairs were picked up or no skin was left under fingernails. “I hope I’m not jinxing it, by saying this, Brian, but there have to be clues here.”

  Callahan nodded. “I’m blaming you for jinxing it if CSI doesn’t find anything.”

  Fenway crossed her arms. “I guess I can deal with that.”

  Another sheriff’s office cruiser pulled into the lot. Fenway saw Dez behind the wheel, a determined look on her face. And next to her in the passenger seat wearing sunglasses, and his mouth turned down in a look of concern, Sheriff McVie.

  “Oh no,” Fenway groaned. “Are they going to tell me I can’t work this case either?”

  Callahan looked sideways at her. “He was your therapist, right? Isn’t that, like, the definition of a conflict of—”

  “Okay, Brian, fine, when you put it like that, sure.” Fenway sighed. “I’ve got way too many conflicts of interests the last couple of days. It’s putting a cramp in my style.”

  Dez walked up to her. “Hey, rookie,” she said.

  “Hey, Dez.”

  “How you holding up?”

  “Fine.”

  Dez caught Fenway’s eye with a look that said they both knew better. “Hm. You stayed at Rachel’s last night?”

  “Yep.”

  “McVie was telling me he put police protection on you.” Dez said it like a question.

  “Yes. They sent Officer Young for the night shift. Callahan this morning.”

  “You’re still alive, I see. They’re not completely incompetent.” Dez smirked.

  “Nope,” Fenway gave Dez a tired smile. “Is McVie staying in the car?”

  Dez shrugged. “I don’t know. He insisted on coming.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “Now he says he needs a minute.”

  “He needs a minute?”

  Dez gave Fenway a look halfway between incredulity and disapproval. “Look, I don’t think it’s a good idea for the two of you to do whatever it is you’re doing—”

  “We’re not doing anything, Dez. We haven’t for a long time.”

  “Well, whatever it is you’re not doing, it’s affecting McVie. He, uh, he had a hard time yesterday. After the explosion.”

  Fenway was a little shocked, but cleared her throat and looked stern. “We haven’t even been on a single date yet.”

  “And his divorce isn’t final either,” Dez said. “But you two aren’t exactly on a pre-first-date basis.”

  Fenway looked at Dez’s face, nonplussed. “I know you and McVie didn’t drive all the way out here just so you could tell me you don’t approve of who I’m dating.”

  “I thought you said you hadn’t gone—”

  “Dez!” Fenway said sharply.

  Dez cackled. “Fine, fine, fine. I won’t bring it up again.” Then her face grew serious. “There’s one thing I wanted to talk with you about,” Dez said, in a low voice only Fenway could hear. She turned her back to the police cruiser, and positioned her body between the car and Fenway. Fenway could no longer see McVie. “Officer Young.”

  “Young? What about him?”

  Dez crossed her arms. “Rachel doesn’t trust him. She called me last night.”

  “Doesn’t trust him? That’s—” Fenway was going to say ridiculous. But she remembered how Rachel insisted Fenway stay in her room, and how she put the chair under the doorknob.

  “That’s what?”

  “Maybe that makes sense. But I don’t know why she doesn’t trust him.”

  Dez shrugged. “I don’t know either. I like the kid. He and Quincy are pretty tight. I can’t see it, but, hey, we all know that Rachel can be three steps ahead of the rest of us.”

  “Right. Did Rachel say anything?”

  “I didn’t have time to talk to her about it,” Dez said. “He’s assigned to you again tonight. I assumed if he had intended to do something, he would have done it last night.”

  Fenway paused. She remembered waking up from her nightmare. Was Officer Young already in the room? Was he trying to hurt her? It was an odd turn of events. Rachel probably saw something that didn’t sit right with her. And Rachel had also made a mention of the gun in her bedroom. Had Rachel mentioned it specifically so that Young would hear it? And had she insisted on keeping Fenway in her room so she could keep her safe? “Did you tell McVie?”

  “No,” Dez said. “He’s been on edge with the election, and then the car bomb right downtown. I’m not sure I should worry him about one of our officers when it’s just a hunch.”

  But he still thinks there’s a mole in the department, Fenway thought. Dez might not be aware of that. Maybe Fenway would talk to McVie about it.

  The sound of a car door opening made Dez turn around. McVie got out and walked toward them.

  “Hi, Fenway,” he said. “Are you okay?”

  Fenway shrugged.

  “First the car you were driving, and now your therapist,” said McVie. “This seems personal.”

  “I don’t know, Craig,” Fenway said. “I was just in the next room. If they wanted to hurt me, wouldn’t they have tried something?”

  McVie drew his mouth into a tight line.

  Fenway looked to her left. Callahan had walked down to the sidewalk and was taking down the license plate numbers of all the cars parked on the street. “Now, you see that, McVie?” she said quietly. “I think Callahan might have the makings of a detective. He’s getting all the license plate numbers from the cars on the street and in the parking lot. If the killer had come out and if he had to walk past us to get to their car, he might have ducked around the back, gone to the street, and gotten a taxi or an Uber or something.”

  “Or walked home,” Dez said.

  “Right. Leaving his car here.”

  “It’s a long shot,” McVie said, shrugging.

  “I don’t know how much of a long shot it is,” said Fenway. “The most likely place was the parking lot, for sure, but I bet we could see maybe a quarter of the cars here. And the killer wouldn’t have known how far around the corner we were. He might not have wanted to chance it, no matter where his car was in the parking lot.” She paused. “Someone might want to suggest he study for the detective exam. He�
�d probably have to work with computers less if he made detective.”

  Dez looked down at her feet and shuffled them. She looked at McVie. He cleared his throat.

  “You’re here to kick me off this case,” Fenway said.

  “We are,” McVie said. “Since he was your therapist.”

  Dez pulled a small notebook out of her pocket. “You also happen to be a material witness to his murder. So it’s even more of a sticky situation.”

  Fenway nodded.

  Dez smirked. “It’s kind of sick and twisted that you want to get out of your campaign events so bad you’re hoping a murder will come along so you’ll have an excuse.”

  Fenway smiled sadly. “Yeah, I guess it is. I don’t think I’m cut out for politics.”

  Dez nodded. “You’re awful at the politics.”

  “All right,” Fenway conceded, sighing. “Callahan took pictures on his phone of what we found. I had gloves on. I felt for the pulse.”

  Dez nodded. “Yeah, Callahan emailed them to me and Donnelly.”

  “I’ve seen them too,” McVie said.

  Fenway nodded. “Anything jump out at you?”

  “From the angle of the wound, I think the killer is right-handed,” Dez said. “But that doesn’t tell us much. Did you see anything under his fingernails?”

  Fenway shook her head. “But I didn’t look closely.”

  “Okay,” McVie said. “What else did you notice?”

  “I think the doctor’s laptop was stolen,” Fenway said. “I assume it was to hide whoever had the ten o’clock appointment.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “I also think a desk blotter was stolen. Last time I was here, he had one of those big desk calendars on his blotter. That could have been why they took it.”

  “A laptop I could see,” Dez said. “If they had to leave in a hurry, or if they decided to get a cab or an Uber, a blotter would be kind of unwieldy, don’t you think?”

  “Yes. So maybe they didn’t take a cab. Maybe they drove off.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What else do you need to ask me?”

  Dez looked at McVie. “I’m going to have to ask her some questions about her therapist.”

  “Fine by me,” McVie said.

  “No, I mean, I can’t have you listening to this conversation. You should go back into the car or go out of earshot or something.”